


Dessert with Sherlock

by geekmama



Series: Aftermath [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-28 03:52:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12597532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekmama/pseuds/geekmama
Summary: In this 9th part ofAftermath, dinner with John comes to a close and Molly and Sherlock head out for a walk to Waitrose and, possibly, other postprandial delights.





	Dessert with Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

> Part 9 of 15
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John was stretched out on his sofa, sound asleep and already snoring, when Molly and Sherlock descended the stairs to bid him goodnight. Sherlock took up the colorful afghan that was thrown over the back of a chair -- a project they’d both observed Mary crocheting during the last weeks of her pregnancy -- and he carefully laid it over his exhausted friend.

“He’ll wake up if Rosie fusses,” Molly said quietly, mostly to reassure herself. 

“Yes, he will,” Sherlock agreed, with a wry smile. “That’s the problem.” 

“And his privilege,” Molly returned. 

He inclined his head in acknowledgment of the truth of this. 

They left only a single lamp burning, quietly put on their scarves and coats, then went out and closed the door silently behind them. 

Sherlock had sent Mycroft’s car away when they’d arrived at John’s, and now Molly said, “Let’s take the Tube, the stop’s not too far, and It’s a beautiful evening.” 

Sherlock looked up at the sky, a patchwork of dark clouds interspersed here and there with glittering stars. “You’re sure you won’t be too cold?” he asked, then said with some disapproval, “You left your gloves at home.” 

“That won’t matter,” she said, and tucked one hand under his arm and stuck the other in the pocket of her coat. 

“Hmm,” he said, arching a brown. “If I think you’re too cold, we’re getting a cab.” 

She laughed, genuinely amused at this suddenly overzealous solicitude, and he could not help giving another crooked grin as they set off, down the pavement.   

The evening _was_ beautiful, but Sherlock grew increasingly quiet as they walked along. The weather was similar to that of the previous night, and Molly had a feeling Sherlock was beginning to recall moments of his terrifying time at Musgrave. She thought of asking him if this was the case, but decided against it. His lengthy “confession” of a few hours past had given her quite enough information, and had been painfully, if necessarily, cathartic for Sherlock. It would be better to focus on the future, now, and the positive aspects of it at that. But they were not out of the woods, yet. Molly had no doubt that Sherlock was dreading the coming confrontation with his parents, in spite of the comfort afforded by the change in venue, and when she remarked that Mycroft had certainly been looking well, considering, his reply confirmed her suspicion in no uncertain terms. 

“His acting skills are quite adequate to the task of presenting the stiff upper lip, certainly. I’m wondering now if it was entirely wise to ask him to give up the safety of his fortress tomorrow. My mother in particular is likely to take advantage of the fact that he will be deprived of his natural environment and therefore more vulnerable to her wrath.” 

“Do you think she will be so angry with him? He thought he was doing his best for everyone concerned.” 

“I expect he did -- and yet the whole plan was originally my uncle’s. Mycroft always had a regard for Rudy that bordered on hero-worship. I couldn’t see it myself, but then Rudy never liked me, and never let me forget it if we happened to meet. He was a cold bastard, in spite of the bizarre predilection for cross-dressing.” 

“You’re joking!” Molly exclaimed. 

“Not at all,” Sherlock said, blandly. He glanced down at her and said, “You will let me know if these revelations about my family start to put you off, make you rethink your association with me, present and future.” 

Molly gave an unamused snort. “Your parents are perfectly lovely people, and I have no doubt that you’ve any number of relatives who are not… “ 

“Aberrant?” 

“Eccentric.” 

Now it was Sherlock’s turn to snort. “It goes far beyond eccentricity, as you must realize from what I’ve been telling you today. Eurus is both a genius and dangerously psychotic -- though she may be beyond expressing either of those at present. She was virtually catatonic when they took her away last night.” 

Molly squeezed his hand. “Mycroft will see that she is helped.” 

“Maybe. Yes. Probably, now that the true state of affairs has come to light. And I’ve ideas of my own on that score. We’ll see what our parents have to say about it, when they calm down.” 

“Yes. What about your uncle, though? You said he died under suspicious circumstances?” 

“Yes. A hazard of his particular lifestyle -- or possibly lifestyles, plural. Though I think now it is all too likely Euros had something to do with his death. If I am remembering correctly, I believe that Rudy may have had some of the same _eccentricities_ as she. That may have been why he wanted her under his thumb. He had a clearer idea of her capabilities than any of us. Even Mycroft’s intelligence pales in comparison, and as for me…” He gave another short laugh. “I could practically be considered the family idiot!” 

They were now approaching the entrance to the Maida Vale Tube station, but Molly grabbed the sleeve of Sherlock’s Belstaff and halted him, suddenly angry. “Stop it, right now!” she hissed up at him, oblivious of other passers-by. “You are no more an idiot than you are a sociopath. You are brilliant in your own right, but more than that you are thoroughly, completely _human_. You were correct when you told me that time that you could have been a Moriarty yourself. But you are not! You’re Sherlock Holmes. William Sherlock Scott Holmes. Good brother, good son, _brilliant_ Consulting Detective, and the best man I know -- or ever _will_ know.” 

He had been staring at her, obviously taken aback by her vehemence, and now he tried to laugh, but it came out oddly strangled. She was close to tears again, and put her arms around him, pulling him into a fierce hug, and to her relief he returned the embrace, and bent his dark head against hers. They held each other like that for a long minute. Then, remembering where they were, they released each other. 

Molly groped for a tissue again, and Sherlock watched her, looking both fond and puzzled. He swiped a tear from the corner of his eye and said, “What on earth did I do to deserve you, Molly Hooper?” 

“ _Everything,_ ” she snapped. She blew her nose impatiently, then fixed him with a steely eye. “It’s just taken you some time to realize it.” 

He started to reply to that, abruptly closed his mouth, then said, “No, I don’t want to set you off again. Suffice it to say that my eyes have at last been opened. I might just have to marry you, you know.” 

She gaped, at him, briefly outraged. But then she gathered her wits and said, crisply, “Yes. I am quite sure you should. But suggesting such a thing as we stand outside the Maida Vale Tube stop is the outside of enough.” 

And he laughed. “You’re quite right. Come. Let’s go shopping, Dr. Hooper.”

 

*

 

Shopping turned out to be an onerous chore. Molly had sketched out a menu, but had not had a chance to finalize it, nor to look up recipes, check for supplies already on hand, or make a shopping list. 

“Just get anything you think you might need,” Sherlock said when she explained this to him, but by the time they’d wandered Waitrose for an hour and had accumulated a trolley full of items, he was getting very weary of the whole thing. “Probably should have just made a reservation at some restaurant,” he muttered. 

But she said, “No, this will be far better. You will have privacy, and a homelike atmosphere. It’s bound to be more soothing than any restaurant. If things get too heated, you can always escape upstairs, or to the back garden for a few minutes.” 

“And have a smoke,” Sherlock said, brightening. “I’ll pick up some Silk Cuts.” 

However, Waitrose was not a supplier of Silk Cuts, so he had to make due with Dunhills. Also Molly had discovered that the shop was entirely out of saffron, essential for one of her signature dishes. 

“Can we make a quick stop at Sainsbury’s on the way home?” she asked uncertainly. She peered at him closely and thought he was starting to look very tired. 

And indeed, he said, grumpily, “No! I’ll text Mycroft, he can pick it up tomorrow.” 

“But I’ll need it at least an hour before we’re ready to eat,” she said, worriedly. 

“I’ll tell him to have it there by nine. _And_ anything else we might have discovered we’ve forgotten. I’m sure there will be something, though you’ve loaded half the store in the trolley. There _always_ was something forgotten when my mother was cooking. It’s a holiday tradition, trying to find a shop that’s open late on Christmas Eve to satisfy her requirements.” 

“Your mother is a wonderful cook, and this will be my first time preparing a meal for her. I’m afraid I do want to try to impress her.” 

Sherlock gave a short laugh. “Lord, you could serve her a plate of stale doughnuts and she’d still be ready to fall at your feet at the whiff of the possibility of grandchildren. She gave up on Mycroft years ago, and I expect she’s considered me a lost cause for ages as well.” 

Molly felt herself blushing again, and when Sherlock winked at her she couldn’t help laughing, too.

 

*

 

However, by the time they returned to Molly’s house and got all their purchases arranged and put away, Molly suspected that the production of grandchildren for Mummy was pretty much off the programme for the evening. They were both feeling quite exhausted, and even the pot of tea and the plate of assorted biscuits they shared failed to revive them. They sat there at the counter, side by side, silently sipping, until Sherlock finally muttered, “Don’t know why I’m so tired, but… I may have raised expectations that I am now… er… possibly…” 

“Unable to fulfill?” 

“Not _unable._ But like you and this gourmet extravaganza you have planned for my parents, I did want to try to impress on the first attempt.” 

Molly gave a snort of laughter and put down her cup. Then she slipped off her seat, put her arms around her weary would-be lover, and set her forehead against his. “Mr. Holmes, I have to be up no later than six a.m. anyway. Let’s just go to bed and _sleep_ , shall we?” 

He gave a small sigh and replied, “Dr. Hooper, I am entirely of your way of thinking.” And he kissed her, very gently.

 

~.~


End file.
